


the outsiders.

by enoument



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: 60s era, Abuse, Child Abuse (mentioned), Drinking, Forbidden Love, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of Angst, M/M, Partying, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smoking, Violence, cyrus is 17, greaser!tj, greasers!au, hot & heavy scenes, jonah covers for tj, jonah is the best character in this entire story, soc!cyrus, tj is 18, tj is angsty and angry at the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoument/pseuds/enoument
Summary: eighteen year old tj kippen is a low-income greaser with a shitty home life, who runs into preppy soc cyrus goodman at a party; and now the boys are forced to hide their biggest secret, no matter the cost.
Relationships: Cyrus Goodman & T. J. Kippen, Cyrus Goodman/T. J. Kippen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. memories of red

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this for a while now, so i really hope chapter one is enjoyable!

tj kippen taps his foot to the distinct music he can hear reed miller blasting as he leans against the edge of a car. the sun meets the side of his face as it begins to set and he stomps on the end of a cigarette that had just been lit with his shoe.

he looks around him, dirt underneath his shoes with dead grass around the yard, the sun setting and casting a golden tint onto everything around him. it makes everything look better than it is; for only a short moment until light gray dusk arrives and he sighs shortly.

reed miller steps out of his house, onto the crooked wooden front porch with chipped blue-gray paint, “you ‘lright, kippen?” and tj nearly jumps at the sudden noise that fell behind him, “damn,” he mumbles, fixing up a smile, “yeah, i’m 'right.” 

reed nods slowly, putting his hands in the pocket of his jean jacket and knowingly staying silent as tj’s eyes continue to wander along the land in front of him. tj can feel a lump in his throat and he’s not sure why, he thinks it’s just one of those days.

“ya look like you need some booze—” reed halts himself, still studying carefully tj’s expression written across his mournful face, “and maybe a weed, too.” he added.

tj began to hear screams from the house coming next door; vulgar terms being yelled and thrown out like candy.

and to reed’s surprise; tj nods and sighs, turning around to follow reed into the miller house for a drink. tj reckons he deserves one.

\- - - 

  
"come on, you deserve one!" cyrus goodman looks down at the drink put in front of him, swallowing almost too hard to the point it dries his throat up. 

“oh, i don’t know, i mean, i really have to drive,” he tried to excuse; but the girl in front of him isn’t having it as her eyebrows furrow and her curly hair bounces ever-so-slightly.

cyrus swallows again; glancing down at the whiskey in front of him. he thinks it can’t be too bad, he’s tasted worse. like the taste of copper on his lip that one night that—

cyrus grabs the drink when that memory comes back into play, downing it in several short gulps as kira summers smirks, and he thanks her quietly before going to return to the party. 

the loud noise of incoherent words fills the room as everyone is smiling and nodding and flirting and dancing.

cyrus swallows as he sees  _ another _ girl come up to invite him to dance, he tries to politely decline because he knows what she’s trying to pull and he doesn’t like it at all.

he doesn’t like ~~girls~~ her at all. 

the brunette boy grabs his keys; walking and swaying into the chilled summer air of evening. he walks over the sidewalk to where he parked, which is scarily close to the east side. he’d silently prayed that no greaser was out looking for a fight. he couldn’t deal with that right now.

clutching his cooler just in case, he put it into the armrest of his mustang and put his keys into the ignition, starting the car. 

he’s driving, so, so fast as he hopes to god no one sees him like this. tears streaming down his cheeks as he drives uncontrollably.

thankfully, there was no one on the street that night. no one who saw. no one except tj kippen, who was sitting on the corner of the mid-way point between the east and west side as cyrus drove past. tj kippen sitting there with a busted lip. tj kippen who was coughing up blood and all he wanted in that moment was that whoever was driving would stop and ask if he was alright. but those thoughts halted when he saw cyrus goodman behind the wheel. the same cyrus goodman that—

a screech of jonah beck’s tires comes behind him and cuts off his thoughts, “jeez, teej, you alright?” he asks softly, and tj shakes his head, “let’s get you back to mine, okay?” 

“ouch,” tj shutters as jonah presses the tip of a wet cotton ball to his lip gently. all tj can feel is the pulse in his temples as he swallows back any tears that had the chance of falling down his face.

cyrus goodman walked inside his house, that was quiet as it was so late. he ran upstairs to his room, closing the door tightly behind him and breaking down right behind it.

cyrus goodman had realized at a young age he didn’t fit the definition of ‘normal’ in their era. he realized he wasn’t normal. he was  **_different._ **

in a time where queer people were oppressed more than ever, cyrus goodman had lost touch with himself and who he was. he never thought he’d meet someone like him; he thought he was broken, different, unlike everyone else and was cursed in some way by God himself. 

**_do you remember him?_ **

cyrus swallowed, his mind allowing itself to flash back as he replayed the memory by squeezing his eyes together; the tears stinging.

_ cyrus and tj’s lips brushed back and forth in a rhythmic fashion; though there was nothing melodic about this at all. no. this kiss was desperate as cyrus’ hands pulled at tj’s hair and tj’s hands rested on cyrus’ hips. cyrus never wanted that moment to end. he liked tj, he liked kissing tj, he liked how tj treated him, he liked how he felt in that moment. and of course someone ruined it. _

cyrus shuttered, the memory stopping right before it could end with the bitter taste in his mouth. tears continued to streak his cheeks and leave them a pink-red color. his breath still shakes and his chest still feels like the engine to an old car, wheezing and vibrating with every quivering breath that leaves his lips. 

tj kippen laid in bed as he listened to his mom crying while on the phone with his aunt through the wall. just moments earlier, his step-dad, winston, had left again. tj silently knew that winston would be back, and everything would be back to normal. the normal arguments, the normal cuts and bruises that cover not only tj’s body—but his mother’s as well. the constant ache and anger that flowed his body; that only built up until he was unable to handle it. the anger that built up the night when he and cyrus were together. the anger that made—

_ tj backed away from cyrus’ grasp. cyrus thought for a moment that he did something wrong and his worries only grew stronger when he saw the pure anger on tj’s face when he pulled away, _

_ “I’m not some fucking... _ queer _ , you know!” tj felt his heart pull at the strings, because deep down, tj kippen knew the words he was saying wasn’t the truth. cyrus reached a hand out to grasp for tj’s, but tj pulled back again. not only did tj pull back, but his clenched fist did too which collided with--- _

tj’s eyes squeezed shut. how did he remember that night so vividly? how did he remember the clothes cyrus was wearing? how did he remember **_every_**. **_single_**. **_detail_**. cyrus wondered how himself had remembered too. how did he remember the solemn look on tj’s eyes; the broken tears behind the pure adrenaline-made anger? how did he remember—no—how could he still  _ feel _ the words tj spit at him like wildfire. he remembered that those hurt worse than the forced punch to cyrus’ lip. the blood, sticky and red, feeling more numb than a direct sharp pain. he felt more pain in his chest than his lip, than anywhere else the punches could’ve struck; because that, that heartbreak, that feeling of rejection, the feeling of his biggest secret being thrown at him like it was no big deal ( _ “i’m not a fucking faggot like you.”) _ , hurt worse and cut deeper than any punch or any knife could’ve. 

_ when cyrus looked up at tj, after the punch hit his face, he gave him a look of despair, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand met his lip just to leave it coated in crimson red. “why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” tj’s expression still had the broken eyes deep, deep down behind it. the despaired eyes of a stone-cold greaser that only cyrus thought he had the ability to see.  _

_ and for a split-second, cyrus swore he saw tj’s expression change from anger, to pure sorrow, and then back to anger. “I’m not your fucking  _ boyfriend _!” _

_ in that moment, jonah beck walked into the room, “teej! c’mon--lets…” and jonah’s eyes narrowed at cyrus, jonah grabbed tj by the wrist and drug him out of the room. jonah’s eyes slowly met cyrus’ (whos were coated in gloss--which was a mix of alcohol and tears--) and jonah smiled weakly, his eyes with some sort of light behind them (cyrus noted he couldn’t get lost in those eyes as easily as he could tj’s, though), “i’m sorry,’ jonah apologized, “he really doesn’t mean it. It’s just...all he knows.” _

  
  



	2. kisses from the swingset on the wrong side of town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> homophobia and slur warning for this chapter

all he knows as tj stares at the chalkboard, is that absolutely _nothing_ scribbled on it makes _any_ sense whatsoever. some weird equations jotted down and tj swears if he narrows his eyes, or blinks for a quick moment, the numbers change. his teacher with her long brown hair that sways and the eyelashes that flutter, mimicking butterflies--(she looked quite young, tj had always perceived her as late 20’s? maybe early 30’s?)--came passing around tests, and tj glanced down with absolutely no surprise at his low score. **35% F,** was scribbled in red pen at the top, along with the note, **see me after class.**

cyrus goodman had never seen tj kippen cry, and at this point, cyrus didn’t think he’d ever see tj again; not unless some freak-disaster happens and they were locked in a room together with no key left--actually, scratch that, tj would probably still find a way to get the key. cyrus was still working on rebuilding so much of what tj took from him in just a few drunken words, and soft fingertips. and then, of course, with cyrus’ luck, there was a knock at his window, and there stood a broken tj kippen. bruised and cut up, tj stepped into cyrus’ room, welcoming himself in with the edgy respect of a greaser. cyrus didn’t even have time to protest before tj’s bright green eyes met his, leaving his mouth dry. just as quick as their eyes met, so did their lips. tj gripped onto cyrus’ shirt and was hovering overtop of him, and cyrus kissed him back with as much force as he could. a little voice in the back of his mind was screaming, _‘this is toxic for you’,_ but cyrus just let tj trail his lips to cyrus’ neck anyways. it just feels _right,_ tj’s body moving rhythmically against his felt _perfect,_ and cyrus didn’t want it to end. breathing heavy, tj pulled his lips from cyrus’ neck. tj was still hovering over cyrus and he looked at him, with a sort of softness cyrus could nearly recognize. tj’s hand reached up to gently cup cyrus’ face, elegantly and dainty--the opposite of tj’s entire appearance and aura. 

and suddenly, tj was crying. tears streaking down his cheeks as he hid his face in the soft skin of cyrus’ neck. cyrus smells like chocolate, chocolate chip from a fresh bakery, tj realizes, and for some reason it makes him cry a bit harder. cyrus rubbed his back, holding him close and consoling him to the best of his ability. tj tasted like strawberries and cigarettes, desperation and regret, guilt and whiskey. tj tasted like everything and nothing all at once to cyrus. when tj was around, suddenly every sense was more prominent. 

cyrus continued to calm tj down, sweet nothings falling from his lips into tj’s ear. tj had clung closer, clutching to cyrus’ patterned madras shirt (that cyrus hoped did not get stained with blood. for one, it was expensive, except tj was worth that; but the bigger reason was he would **not** know how to explain that to his parents). sitting up, tj nearly fell over, he sniffed softly and wiped his eyes, “fuck--i’m so sorry that--” cyrus shut him up with another soft kiss, and tj noted that cyrus tastes like rain that falls in springtime and liberation.

  
  


tj and cyrus reluctantly broke apart once again, “you need cleaned up,” cyrus spoke softly, sitting up as tj maneuvered past him. cyrus left the room, and tj looked around, curiously. he saw expensive shirts--nearly the cost of tj’s rent--stacked in cyrus’ closet, he saw family photos that were neatly tucked into painted wooden frames. he swallowed, throat entirely dry with envy for cyrus’ home life. tears were threatening to spill again and he tried to stop them but they wouldn’t. 

when cyrus re-entered the room, he pulled tj into a hug, silencing tj’s sobs against his shirt before the two pulled away and cyrus positioned himself so he could clean the cut-up scab right above tj’s left eyebrow, “was it a soc?” cy mumbled after the wince tj squeaked out when the alcohol-soaked cloth touched his mark. “no,” tj said softly, and he watched cyrus’ eyes furrow in frustration and concentration. “who, then?” cyrus asked, wondering if maybe tj had gotten in a fight with the boy who had dimples at from the party. “step-dad,” was tj’s one-word response, and by tj’s clenched jaw and hard-coated eyes; cyrus decided to not pry anymore. 

“there you go,” cyrus smiled sadly, tj losing himself in cyrus’ eyes as they kept dead eye-contact. “uh, thanks,” tj mumbled, not really knowing what to say. cyrus just sorta nodded, and the awkward tension fell back over the room. a blanket to the coldness, making the two boys feel like the only two in the world. a sudden thump made both jump, and cyrus was quickly pushing tj back out his window, before looking back at the door and then tj, and jumping too.

“fuck,” cyrus muttered, wiping dirt off of his shirt. tj snickered at him, pulling out a pack of winstons, “cancer stick?” he offered. cyrus’ eyes narrowed, he’d never tried a lot of things before--and cigarettes were one of them. he knew they weren’t good for you, (tj even called it a _cancer stick_ , so at least he could admit it was damaging to his body), but cyrus felt freer and liberated when he was with tj. playing out the options, tj smiled, a smile of deviance, a smile that made cyrus wanna rebel somehow even more, “c’mon, don’t be a wet rag, cy.”

cyrus shrugged, taking the cigarette and placing butt between his bright pink (and still slightly-bruised) lips, taking the lighter from tj and inhaling smoke. cyrus exhaled as they walked down the streets, far from his house, getting closer and closer to the barrier of town, near where the park that divided the sides was. 

tj couldn’t help but admire how cyrus looked in that moment. the blue-ish purple skylight making his skin glow, the moonlight taking invitation to cyrus’ eyes, the soft exhale of his body each time he took a hit of the cigarette that laid between his lips. tj found it funny, how cyrus goodman, the soc (and one of the most popular, at that) was smoking with him and hanging out with him and kissing him.

cyrus shivered, his t-shirt not making up for the lack of warmth that trailed goosebumps up and down his forearms. without thinking, tj paused, holding his cig between his teeth as he took off his jean jacket and placed it over cyrus. “don’t wan’ you gettin’ cold,” tj managed, somewhat flustered (though, cyrus barely noticed as he was trying to keep his own cheeks from heating up intensely). cyrus smiled that goofy smile reserved specifically for tj, “th--uh--thank you.”

tj nodded and the two walked in silence for a while. cyrus took in the scar next to tj’s eyes, and the way he always looked like he was on edge. tj spoke up after a while, the cut on his lip nearly splitting a couple times while cyrus watched the way his mouth formed words. “i wanted to say i’m sorry,” tj weakly said, and cyrus noticed it didn’t seem like tj really knew how to apologize. “for before, i mean,” tj continued, and cyrus nearly winced at the way tj was bringing up the memory. “i didn’t mean to hurt you and i _definitely_ didn’t mean the things i said,” tj’s hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips again, “‘t was all bullshit,” he mumbled, looking away from cyrus the entire apology. 

cyrus withheld any tears, shrugging and down-playing the entire thing, “yeah i guess it was...bullshit--or whatever,” he said in an unfazed tone, “but i don’t really care anymore, sorta over it.” cyrus avoided eye-contact, too, but he still stole quick glances to be met with the stone-cold face of tj, no emotion showing. 

“okay,” was the reply he got, and tj kicked some of the rocks as they walked, jaw clenched the entire time. the wind gust was harsh against cyrus’ skin, and he couldn’t imagine how cold tj must’ve felt, his bare white shirt cut in several places. it didn’t seem to be very thick, either. if cyrus squinted he could see the skin beneath it, (but he _“definitely didn’t want to”)._ the boys stopped walking when they eventually reached the playground. 

cyrus immediately made a head-start for the swingset. tj chuckled, walking fast but not catching up until cyrus was already on a swing, legs pumping in rhythmic patterns. he was giggling, pushing himself to go higher on the swing, “teej! get on a swing!” he smiled big, pointing to one next to him. and oh god, how was tj supposed to say no to his smile?

“woah!” tj exclaimed once he was high on the swing. tj was usually high on lots of things, but now he was high on a _person_ ; and it was a brand new form of intoxication. “i don’t know why i ever stopped swinging!” he smiled, one of innocence and beauty, and cyrus let that damned smile overcome everlasting fear and enchant him. 

tj jumped off his swing, going behind cyrus and pushing him, “underdog!”. cyrus lost his breath, eyes widening when they met tj’s, “that was _exhilarating_!” he smiled real big, and tj felt his own breath hitch. “you want another one?” tj offered, and cyrus quickly declined. confidence dawning as ever, tj made a fake-pout at cyrus, “too bad.” he said, pushing cyrus even higher; cyrus’ giggles forming butterflies that flew through tj, from deep in his stomach to the lovely look in his eyes. 

“now jump!” tj urged on, smirk daring on his face. cyrus shook his head no, and tj rolled his eyes, “you can do it, cy!”. cyrus swallowed, feeling something liberating and free overtake him, or maybe it was the fact tj was there, and he jumped. stumbling, and nearly falling down, before tj caught him. arms grabbing cyrus’ wasit on impulse, and cyrus stumbled so their lips were nearly touching. their eyes met and they could each feel each other’s breath on their lips. 

“well, well, well.” oh _fuck. there it fucking was._ tj turned around, hands in pockets of his jeans. he nudged his head in a greeting gesture that looked a lot more scary than friendly. “‘ey, tony,” his voice was rough and it confused cyrus how _quickly_ things changed. he stood at his swing, frozen as eyes fixated on the rings the tony wore. the same rings he used to bash in cyrus’ face that left a scar right about the right side of his lip. his hands shook and absentmindedly rested in the pockets of tj’s jean jacket. fuck. he was wearing his jacket. he had forgotten and now it made them look even gayer. fucking fuck.

tj realized this, too, when a robust gust of wind not only left him cold and shivering, but knocked a branch off a tree, a strong sign something was going to go wrong. the only concern tj had was cyrus. as long as cyrus was safe, everything’d be fine. 

“so…” tony trailed off, and tj could smell the liquor on him. “you and that faggot soc been gettin’ it on?” _and there it was._ tj defended himself, “he fell off a swing,” he shrugged, keeping his composure almost as cool as his heart. “i helped him up--”

“--by staring in his eyes?” one of the guys, bob, who tony had brought questioned, and they all laughed at the joke. once laughter calmed down, tj’s fists were clenched. “hey, why don’t he come over here? can show him how a real man does it, yeah, kip?” he suggested, ruefully, a smirk dark on his features. tj puffed out his chest, stepping closer to tony in an intimidating fashion, “don’t involve him, dude.”

“why? don’t wanna watch your boyfriend get beat?” tony laughed, cracking his knuckles, and cyrus watched in petrification at the way the moonlight hit the rings he was wearing. tj clenched his jaw again, waiting for the moment to strike. suddenly, clutching him from the shirt, tj was underwater, and tony was holding him down. 

gasping. coughing. air. air. he was heaving for air. he was pushing against tony’s hand. trying to get up. his eyes were squeezed shut, and the tint behind them quickly faded from black, to red, and black to back as he felt himself fall onto the grass behind him.

cyrus goodman was sitting on the pavement, wiping blood off his pocket knife onto the grass, “i didn’t mean to kill him. i didn’t mean to kill him,” he kept whispering on repeat to himself. 

tj’s eyes widened, he gasped for air and was granted it. “you--fuck--you _what_?!” and cyrus wiped the tears from under his eyes, accidentally wiping blood in place of them, his hands were covered in blood. “i didn’t mean to! he was gonna hurt you!” he cried, wiping more and more of the blood off the blade, but actually just smearing it. 

tj glanced next to him, seeing the dead body of tony laying limp on the ground. eyes still open and an obvious slit against his throat. “fuck, cyrus, we need to get out of here.” and cyrus nodded, staring into the distance, entirely numb. there was nothing left to do but run.


End file.
